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ADDRESS 




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POEM, 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE 



€Ql\mhm €oll^t glmnni |issariattoii, 



AT. 



Hope Chapel, October 27, 1858. 




N E ^y Y p. Iv : 
JOHlSr F. TEOW, PRINTEE, o79 BROADWAY. 

1858. 



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ADDRESS 



I>OEM 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE 



CoIitmWa €(iilt^t likmiti l^ssotiatiau, 



HOPE CHAPEL, OCTOBER 27, 1858. 



, ^^-^.N-OWN^/V-^. 



Q-.f«A>cy^A-oi-Awv,ffv^ « 



NEW YOEK : 

JOH]^ F. TROW, PRINTEE, 877 & 379 BROADWAY, 

CORNER OF WHITE STREET. 

1868. 



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1^^ 







NEW YOKK FUBL. UBft. 
IN SXCiiAMQft, 



^^^ariatioit af t|^ !^lumiu of Cohtmbia ColUgt. 



Organized for the purpose of perpetuating the friendships established dur- 
ing their course in College, and of promoting the true interests, influence, and 
efficiency of their Alma Mater as an institution of sound learning and prac- 
tical education. 

OFFICEKS. 

PRESIDENT. 
HENRY J. ANDERSON, LL.D., 

Class of 1818. 

VICE-PRESIDENT. 
WILLIAM C. RUSSELL, 

Class of 1882. 

SECRETARY. 
A. S. VAN DUZER, 

Class of 1853. 

TREASURER. 

P. W. OSTRANDER, 

Class of 1849. 

STANDING COMMITTEE. 



Rev. Alex. S. Leonard, Class of 1825. 
Rev. Wm. Walton, D.D., " 1828. 
Charles R. Swords, " 1829. 

William L. Boyd, " 1832. 

John McMullen, " 3837. 

John M. Knox, " 1838. 



AVORTHINGTON RoMAINE, ClaSS of 1840. 



Abram S. Hewitt, 
Rev. Morgan Dix, 
John D. Skidmore, 
Adolphe Le Moyne, 
Henry A. Tailer, 



1842. 
1848. 
1849. 
1850. 
1852. 



rtv'.J U^^ 10^**^' f-''\H 

Alumni of Columbia Colle^^^y^hecome members of the Association 
by signing the Constitution, which is at the office of the Treasurer, P. W. 
Ostrander, Esq., No. 1, Hanover street, in the city of New York. 



ADDEESS 
THEODORE SEDGWICK, A. M., 

BEFORE THE 

OCTOBER 27, 1858. 



ADDRESS 



Occasions like tliis are in many respects jDeculiar to this 
country. Indeed it is only in modern times that educated 
persons liave met together on any considerable scale, for 
purely intellectual communion and instruction. 

The great games of Greece were a combination of reli- 
gious festival and popular amusement. The ruder Ko- 
mans seem to have collected only for the drama, the sa- 
cred rites, or the fierce military sports which crowded their 
amphitheatres. The Floral Games and Courts of Love were 
the recreations of an opulent and luxurious aristocracy, 
that pressed poetry and literature, along with their other 
vassals, into base and menial service. 

In more recent times, indeed, the immense develop- 
ment and spread of instruction has greatly changed the 
character of all intercourse, public no less than private, 
and now, for several centuries, learned and Eoyal Socie- 
ties, Sorbonnes, Institutes, Academies, have, with more or 
less of pomp and parade, with more or less of kingly and 
oligarchical patronage, with more or less of devotion to 
some special branch of knowledge, collected educated and 
accomplished audiences. 

But meetings precisely like this, where persons of va- 
rious pursuits, of different creeds, political and religious, 
attracted by no specialty of learning, are drawn together 



b ADDKESS. 

solely by tlie tie of a common education— occasions like 
this^ I say, are, in their frequency, the friendly and frater- 
nal feelings which, they preserve and express, their sim- 
plicity and their purely intellectual character, almost en- 
tirely peculiar to this country. 

And the topic which occupies hours like these must, 
from the nature of the case, almost ever be in some way 
connected with the theme, trite yet ever new, worn yet 
alway fresh — the great subject of Education. 

Education — -Alma Mater — second only to the mother ! 
Identified and indeed almost identical with that blessed 
relation, the guide of our tottering and lisping childhood, 
the support of stern and struggling manhood, solace of ill- 
ness, comforter of grief, irradiating with benign light even 
the shaded paths of age — it is Education who summons us 
here to-night, and it is on her interests that, for the few 
moments we are permitted to be together, our minds most 
naturally dwell. 

You are well aware how much debate there has been 
as to the proper curriculum of academic teaching, as to 
the extent to which our early education should be carried, 
and the branches of which it should be composed — ^how 
much controversy there has even been as to the value of 
any collegiate education whatever. Into the details of 
that somewhat technical discussion I do not propose at 
length to enter. I wish rather to speak of Education in a 
more enlarged sense, as the guide, the teacher, the com- 
panion of our entire lives — the deity that sits by our cra- 
dle and accompanies us to the tomb, which hears the 
first feeble cry of infancy, and receives the last yet feebler, 
sigh that carries the soul before its Creator — in the sense 
in which the term comprehends the right guidance and 
control of that unappeasable, passionate thirst for knowl- 
edge, which, if there were nothing else, would proclaim 
our divine origin and higher destiny. 

I do not mean to speak of religious Education. I 



ADDRESS. Y 

fully agree with, my reverend and distinguished friend, 
Dr. Hopkins, of Williamstown, that '^ nothing now on the 
earth, or that ever has been, can compare with Christian- 
ity in its educating power," but, for many reasons, I do 
not intend to touch upon this vast and grave theme. I 
confine myself to intellectual Education, as the phrase is 
generally used. 

I have also rather in my view the public interests and 
results of Education : the private training of the mind 
is another wide topic, upon which I do not propose to en- 
ter. Education with us is admitted to be a matter of 
public interest and concern ; let us therefore inquire what 
should be its relations to and its effect upon the character 
of our country. 

Tate a few steps backward in the history of that coun- 
try. It is now two hundred and forty-nine years this au- 
tumn since Henry Hudson first got soundings inside of 
Sandy Hook. I say this autumn, for on the 4th Sep- 
tember he entered the lower bay, nor did he leave these 
waters till the 4tb of October ; — European eyes thus first 
resting on this portion of America in its most brilliant 
and gorgeous estate. 

Those who have made a western passage across the 
Atlantic in fine weather, and with favoring gales, know 
the striking change that comes over the hue of the 
heavens when about two-thirds of the long journey is 
achieved ; how the cold gray sky of Northern Europe 
gives way, as we approach America, to a deep and yet 
deeper blue ; how the firmament seems to lift itself up 
and up above the expanse of waters : how the air gains 
in freshness and clearness, until we step upon the western 
shore, beneath its brilliant sun and absolutely transparent 
atmosphere. 

We all too, even before having the opportunity of com- 
paring the old and new continents — we all are familiar 
with the gorgeous aspect of our autumnal world — the vivid 



8 ADDRESS. 

dyes of tTie forest, the deep color of the heavens, the bra- 
cing vigor of the air, the marvellous medium between the 
torrid heats of our fiery summers, and the arctic severity of 
our winter seasons. 

Taking ourselves back then for two hundred and forty- 
nine autumns, we can somewhat realize the impression 
made by the first aspect of America on the senses long train- 
ed to observation of the hardy English mariner, who after 
two unsuccessful voyages in quest of a northern passage 
to Japan and China, turned apparently in despair from a 
third attempt, and steering southward from Nova Zembla, 
coasted the American shore from the capes of the Massa- 
chusetts Bay to the Headlands of the Chesapeake, and 
for the first time explored the shores of the mighty waters 
that bathe the spot on which we stand. What a succes- 
sion of marvels and delights must that first voyage up the 
Hudson have been ! 

The daring navigator passed the low point of land 
where the struggling tides of the North and East Elvers 
then met, as they meet to-day, and standing on he saw 
the round bluff at the lower bank of the famed Spuyten 
Duyvil. Scarce had his eye rested on this inlet when he 
found himself beneath the lofty battlements of basalt, half 
hidden with verdure, that, like some ancient ivy-covered 
ruin, frown over against the natural terraces on which the 
lovely town of Yonkers at present stands. He stretched up 
Tappan Bay, where in our time the genius of commerce 
has waded half across the mighty river, her arms laden 
with the spoils of the West. He stood on beneath the 
bold bluff of the Hook Mountain, which to-day casts its 
evening shadows on the fair villages of Nyack and Tarry- 
town. He passed the gorge in the hills behind which the 
Eockland Lake, spring of greater health and luxury than 
the Bandusian fount, lay slumbering ; over against it on 
his starboard hand he left the long projecting point which 
now groans with the products of the vine. He stood 



ADDRESS. y 

across Haverstraw. He entered the narrow channel pierced 
among the lofty hills which stretch up from the Stony 
Point illustrated by the reckless daring of Wayne. 
He stood on between the mountains which shut in 
the river with their sheer descents, and still on he 
sailed to where the Fishkill Heights fall off to the Plains 
of Dutchess, just opposite the beautiful slope on which 
Newburgh stands — he passed the mouth of the creek 
whose steep sides are now crowned with the heroic memo- 
ries of Clinton and Montgomery — he passed unconsciously 
beneath the curious plateau to which West Point has 
given a world-known name — ^he saw the conical outline 
of Sugar Loaf, the lofty peak of Crow's Nest, the gloomy 
crest of the Thunder Mountain ; and as he emerged from 
beneath the hoary side of Butter Hill his wondering gaze 
rested on the blue Catskills. He passed the curiously- 
jutting rock which now hides the town of Poughkeepsie 
from the eyes of the southern traveller, and so stood on be- 
tween the rich counties of Ulster, Columbia and Greene, 
and on and on, till, as he tells us, he nearly reached the 
forty-third parallel of latitude, for so perfect was the state 
of nature that he could mark his progress by no artificial 
landmarks. 

Such were the sights that presented themselves to the 
eyes of that ancient mariner as, pacing his narrow deck 
beneath the bright September sun, or the clear autumnal 
moon, he pursued his northern course. Even to our sated 
eyes the panorama is one of brilliant beauty ; what must 
it have been to his new and eager gaze ? no wonder he 
tells us that " with its grass and flowers, and delicious 
smells and goodly trees, it was as pleasant a land as ever 
he had seen." But he tells us of nature alone, of the 
river full of fish, the tobacco and the maize, the Indian 
wheat, the pompions and the grapes, the natives clad in 
deer skins and mantles of feathers, exchanging their 
oysters, beans and venison, their otter and beaver skins 



10 ADDRESS. 

for knives and beads — every line of his record is of a virgin 
world^ of a state of absolute nature. 

The natural features have indeed little changed. 
Hudson might have murmured the lines of our Bryant : 

Cool shades and dews are round iny way, 

And silence of the early day ; 

'Mid the dark rocks that watcli his bed 

Glitters the mighty Hudson spread, 

Unrippled, save by drops that fall 

From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall. 

The blue of the Catskills still blends with the blue of the 
horizon. The shadows of the clouds still lie on the slopes 
of the mountains. The Buttermilk Fall still flows and 
dashes over its rocky bed^ and the sheer mountains still 
descend to the river brink. But in all things else how 
great the metamorphosis ! No white sail then saluted 
the mariner's eyes — no shrill steamboat whistle pierced 
his ears — no car thundered along the river's edge — no 
clearing showed the agency of civilization — no fence-row 
marked the institution of property — no villas peeped out 
from amid the clusters of oaks^ locusts, sycamores and 
chestnuts. 

Marvellous, in truth, in every part of the globe, are the 
achievements of the two hundred and fifty years which have 
rolled away since Hudson's eyes first saw the river that 
bears his name. What other period of equal length can 
compare with it ? Two hundred and fifty years ! It is 
the period from Augustus to the Emperor Decius — from 
William the Conqueror to Edward III. It does not cover 
the Kingly epoch of Kome. What two hundred and fifty 
years, I say, is comparable to it in its achievements ? and, 
whether we regard the organization of government — the 
accumulation of property — the development of the arts of 
civilization — or any or all of the elements, symbols, or 
landmarks of progress, of all the achievements of this 
mighty cycle what equal those which have been wrought on 
the banks of the Hudson ? 



ADDRESS. 11 

If America be the most striking instance of tlie rapidi- 
ty and intensity of human progress^ certainly the great 
city whose feet are bathed in the waters of the Hudson 
Kiver is at once the most perfect type of that progress^ 
and the most complete representative of America. Boston 
still bears the impress of the Puritan — Philadelphia of the 
Quaker — Eichmond of the Cavalier — New Orleans of the 
Gaul, — but ISTew York, in both its virtues and its vices — 
its excellences and its defects — its immense material pro- 
gress, its gayety and good humor, its active and eager in- 
telligence, its intense energy, its vast treasures of wealth 
and knowledge, its presumptuous audacity, its reckless 
lawlessness, its organized disorder, is the very symbol and 
type of the country. ISTew York is the quintessence of 
America. 

Contemplate New York with a bold and honest eye — 
friendly enough to see her virtues — not too friendly to no- 
tice her defects — and acknowledge that she is the true 
symbol and representative of the country. The shores on 
which Hudson found nothing but Indian canoes are now 
crowded with the sails of every clime. The banks where 
the wild beast then roamed are now covered with the 
dwellings of a teeming population. Religion has her tem- 
ples — Science her schools — Humanity her hospitals. The 
land groans beneath long lines of aqueducts, with which 
nor Claudian nor Marcian monument can compare. A 
press that has no equal for activity or intelligence, keeps 
the mind perpetually alive, and thought has found 
an agent fleet as itself in the magical telegraph. The 
munificence of an Astor and a Cooper is putting instruc- 
tion within the reach of all, while the age of upholstery 
and silk damask has almost passed away, and, thanks to the 
taste and liberality of an Aspinwall and a Belmont, art is 
pluming its wings for a triumphant flight. 

Nor look alone on the brilliant side of the view. With 
cool and sagacious eye contemplate its sad defects. Gloomy 
streets, filthy with mud and offal — police negligent and 



12 ADDEESS. 

ineffective — offices in the hands of speculators — politics a 
game of plunder — elections secured by bribery scarce dis- 
avowed — a press of reckless audacity and uncontrolled 
license — crime unpunished — little order — no discipline. 
Take in all the lights^ and with them all the shadows of 
the picture^ and who — looking at what we have done, and 
at what we have the ability to do, at the wealth, the intel- 
ligence, the concentrated power, the general morality of 
the great population which God has called together on this 
narrow island — ^who will hesitate to declare that the good 
is destined to triumph, and that here on the banks of this 
magnificent river are laid the foundations of an imperial 
city, which shall preserve and establish the rights of man ! 
which shall keep alive the altar-fires of learning and sci- 
ence ; from which again shall radiate the lights of know- 
ledge and virtue, and where intelligent freedom and true 
eq^uality shall be adorned by all the graces and luxuries of 
an elder civilization ? 

Such toill be the career of New York. Let neither 
the shadow nor the danger of any present evil blind us as 
to the character of the past, or make us timid as to the 
future. There may be changes fierce and rapid ; there 
may be vast alterations in the forms of government ; we 
may be called on to make exertions and sacrifices of which 
even our fathers did not dream. But that the interests 
of property, learning, science, and religion will not pros- 
per on this spot, let no man fear. 

Looking forward, then, with confident hope, to the 
course of the magnificent prosperity of New York, as the 
chiefest jewel in the crown of our republic, let us ask our- 
selves to-night what are the true relations of the educated 
American to his city and to his country ? How can 
each man assist in the great task of leading or acceler- 
ating, advancing or prolonging, this triumphant line of 
march ? 

But first let us have a preliminary word as to the na- 



ADDRESS. 13 

ture of what our education — our early education-r-should 
be. It is very certain tliat in any real sense of the term, 
our instruction — the teaching of our lives, of our minds, 
of our hearts, of our morals — our true education only be- 
gins where it is often ignorant ly thought or carelessly said 
to finish. When we emerge from the collegiate hall — when 
the laurel berry crowns our temples — when we put on the to- 
ga viriliSj and step on the theatre of the w^orld, then at that 
moment does the real education of our lives begin. All that 
goes before is little else than a judicious selection of tools. 
What should those tools be ? 

The liberal education of Greece, in a technical sense, 
that is, the education of youth, consisted of grammar, gym- 
nastic exercises, and music, a knowledge of poetic litera- 
ture, especially of Homer, familiarity with the philosophi- 
cal systems of the age, and a certain amount of rhetorical 
accomplishment. These things composed the academic 
instruction of Grecian youth. 

And when we consider the life of the Greek, so vari- 
ous and yet so intense — when we reflect that the orator of 
to-day might to-morrow be serving in the army, and the 
next day leading their navies to battle, thus calling for the 
highest development of their physical, as well as of their 
intellectual qualities — when we consider that in that age 
of limited intercourse foreign tongues were of little utility, 
that science had as yet not begun her career of discovery, 
and that the best part of their religion was comprised in 
their philosophy, it may safely be said that the Greek aca- 
demic curriculum was a very comprehensive and sufficient 
introduction to the then great business of life. 

How is it with us ? How does our Collegiate in- 
struction, as generally planned, fit our youth for the world 
into which they are to enter ? The liberal education of 
our time chiefly, indeed practically, may be said altogether 
to consist of Latin, Greek, and Mathematics. For any 
thing else that is added is rather an accretion, an ex- 



^^ 



14 ADDRESS. 

crescence, than an integral part of the collegiate course ; 
it is imperfectly pursued, and no proficiency in it, howeyer 
great, can secure academic honors. The vigor of our academic 
instruction is expended on Latin, Greek, and Mathematics. 

Looking, then, at what our curriculum comipnses and 
"what it omits, I think there can be no doubt that (regard 
being had to the different periods of the world) the Greek 
course of instruction was much more complete, much 
more scientific, much better suited to fit the youth for 
the world in which he was to live, than is ours. 

Our early education, borrowed directly from the uni- 
versities of Europe, and fashioned on their system, is that 
of the schoolmen of the middle ages. At the period of 
the revival of letters, when Latin and Greek were the 
language of students all over the world, when no modern 
tongue had taken form or consistence, when science, 
struggling in the fetters of magic and alchemy, had made 
no true discoveries, — in other words, when this system was 
framed, it was well fitted to the wants of the age that 
created it. 

But consider how deplorably insufiicient it is for the 
necessities and requirements of our time. Latin and Greek 
are now, except for a small class of students, of little 
positive practical value. They are, indeed, still invalu- 
able as matter of intellectual discipline and enjoyment ; 
but the question which I wish to ask you is, do not the 
dead languages engross too large a share of the precious 
spring time of our youth ? Within the last four centuries, 
modern languages have S23rung into existence, rich with 
untold treasures of poetry, eloquence and knowledge for 
those sufficiently educated to appreciate them, while 
patient and elaborate science has revealed a world of 
marvels which excite the curiosity, or affect the interest of 
almost every human being. But both modern languages 
and the natural sciences are treated by our schools and 
colleges as of the most secondary consideration. Not 



ADDKESS. 15 

that in all cases they are wholly ignored, but that 
the energy, the vigor, the ambition of the academic 
course is all concentrated on the dead languages and 
mathematics. These occupy the mind ; these carry off 
the honors ; so that practically the youth comes out 
of college with no available knowledge of any tongue 
but his own, and no knowledge whatever of the natural 
sciences. 

On what theory can this arrangement be defended ? 
No one will, I think, suspect me of underrating the value 
of Latin and Greek. We have all derived too much 
pleasure, too much profit from classical studies ever to 
speak of them lightly or with indifference. Those who 
have endured the atrocities of the Empire with Tacitus, 
marched through Gaul with Ca3sar, waged the Peloponne- 
sian war with Thucydides — who have heard Cicero thunder 
against Catiline, or Demosthenes against Philip — who have 
half read, half sung, the odes of Horace, or kept time to 
the lofty verse of Yirgil, will hardly be ready to renounce 
or to decry a part of their education which has contributed so 
much to the pleasure and delight of their intellectual ex- 
istence. As a discij^line these studies are most excellent ; 
as the link between us and the early civilization of the 
world, they are invaluable. But, Sit modus in rebus — 

Let there be method in all our doings. If, as says the 
Hebrew Sage, there is a time for all things, youth is most 
certainly the chosen time for the acquisition of oral speech 
of whatever tongue. It is then that the organs of utter- 
ance have their greatest flexibility ; it is then that the 
organs of hearing have their greatest susceptibility ; with a 
little care and a proper system a child in the first fifteen 
years of its existence will acquire French and German, and, 
if desired, Spanish or Italian, as easily as it does English, 
and as permanently. 

In our country, of all countries, is this most important. 
Large districts of it are peopled by emigrants of foreign 



1 n ADDRESS. 

lands who slowly acquire our tongue. Our commercial 
dfe swarm with citizens of French, of Spanrsh, of Ger 
man and Italian birth, so that, to the young man m ay 
branch of business, there is scarcely any thing more use- 
ful any thing more important, than a knowledge of mod- 
ern languages. French and German, at least, may be sard 
to be almost indispensable. , i • „„ 

Our inattention and indifference to the natural sciences 
i, still more striking. We are brought up m almost ab- 
solute ignorance of the wonders and mysteries of the ex- 
ttalw'orld. We are not merely not taught the laws 
wiich govern the phenomena daily takmg place around 
us- we are not even taught how to observe those phenom- 
11 The result is, that to us, from Dan to Beersheba, 
all is barren. We grow up in an ignorance of ^U practi- 
cal things, disgraceful to the age, eminently prac ical, m 
Thioh we live We are ignorant of the stars above ou 
heads of the pebbles beneath our feet, of the commonest 
Processes going on around us, of the chemistry of bread, 
Tthe ILtfy of wine, the — -f^^^-^^ 
.rowth and nurture and habits of plants. We are left m 
Lost total ignorance of the laws of our own being, of the 
laws which should regulate our diet our exercise, or he 
ventilation of our habitations. We know notUng of the 
daily actings and doings of our great Mother Nature 

In turning our backs on these branches of instruction, 
^e not only lose so much positive knowledge, bu we to- 
lally neglect the development of the great talent of ob- 
se vation-a talent which can only be fostered by a con- 
:::: attention to the natural ^^^M-f^l'^^^^Z^^ 
perhaps has more to do with success in life than any other, 
whfch lights up the eager eye of genius, which gives pra - 
tical insiht into the affairs of life, which enables us to 
leani more from a single page of the great Book of Na- 
ure than Alexandrian or Bodleian libraries can teach us. 
When the Scotch lad wandered forth from the sand- 



ADDRESS. 17 

pits along the shores of Cromarty with his old grandfa- 
ther, the buccaneer's oak-handled hammer in hand, when 
he learned from Uncle Sandy how the lobster casts his 
claws, and where to find the lump-fish, he was fostering 
that talent for observation that has made the stone ma- 
son famous, and inscribed the name of Hugh Miller high 
on the roll of science, 

For this species of knowledge, too, nothing is easier 
than to create a love in early youth. Youth is naturally 
observant. If the taste be guided and stimulated, if the 
young eye be not forever turned away from the pages of 
nature to the dull routine of type, the youth would al- 
ways be naturally observant. 

Geology, Chemistry, Mechanics, have for youth gen- 
erally the most powerful attraction. The boy who will 
turn in disgust from Antigone or Algebra, will willingly 
devote hours to a pneumatic cistern, will spend days cheer- 
fully with the plane and the lathe, will explore with de- 
light the hill-side, hammer in hand. Thus will he, on the 
one hand, acquire positive knowledge, and on the other 
foster that taste for instruction which is the surest pre- 
ventive against idleness, which, after religion, is the su- 
rest guard against vice. 

As to mathematics, there can be no dispute about 
their value as a part of our education. The only question 
is as to the period at which their serious study should 
begin and the amount of time which they should occupy. 
Accomplished persons, versed in the science of education, 
have thought they should be commenced at a very early 
age, and steadily, if not exclusively, pursued. It seems 
to me that this plan is of more than doubtful merit. 
Mathematics belong to the domain of pure dry reason. 
How many young minds are disposed to give their atten- 
tion to matters of pure dry reason ? Franklin's experience 
appears to be pregnant with instruction on this point. 
At the age of seven or eight he began arithmetic, failed 
2 



18 ADDRESS. 

to master it, and gave it up, half in disgust, half in despair. 
At fifteen he renewed the attack, met with no difficulty 
or resistance, and went on conquering and to conquer. 
This is the record of one of the most logical — if not one 
of the most mathematical — minds that ever existed. 

It appears to me not very difficult to show, that one 
of the chief occupations of early youth should be the 
familiar acquisition of foreign tongues and the systematic 
development of the habit of observation. 

Look again at what our education omits. The educa- 
tion of Greece ca^refully cultivated gymnastic exercises, 
carefully developed the physical attributes, and hence, 
undoubtedly, the wonderful manysidedness of that won- 
derful people. At the Olympic Games the great feature 
was the foot-course, the boxing-match, or the chariot- 
race. Their great men were orators, or lawyers, or soldiers, 
advocates, or generals, or admirals, just as the emergency 
required. 

Nor was this owing merely to the early and simpler 
state of existence in which they lived. Of Kome, remark- 
able above all things for her genius for administration, 
the same thing is true. Crassus, the rival of Pompey 
and Csesar, was eminent at the bar. Csesar was the second 
orator of Rome. Cicero served under Sylla in the Marsian 
wars. Horace left his inglorious shield on the field of battle. 
The physical education of the Romans was at all times 
carefully developed. In the worst days of the empire, the 
emperors contended in the ring for the applause which 
always followed physical prowess ; and it is something in 
favor of even a wretch like Commodus, that he was proud 
of the appellation of the Roman Hercules. 

Look again at the aristocracy of England. How care- 
fully have they kept up their vigorous amusements, their 
hardy sports, their boating, their shooting, their hunting, 
their yachting ! How little have they permitted the 
luxuries of the town to enfeeble and corrupt their manly 



ADDRESS. 19 

rural pleasures ! No one can fail to see how much this 
wise ordering of their lives has done to endear them to 
the hearts of their sturdy people. 

How striking is the contrast with us among those that 
we sometimes call our better classes — among those who 
are our more educated classes ! From the time that the 
boy, whose fortune it is to be educated^ is immured in school 
till the period when he is again to be immured in the law- 
yer's ofl&ce^ the counting-room, the dissecting-room, and 
from that time again until he enters upon the profession 
of his life, no systematic attention whatever is paid to 
the subject of physical education. All the health — all the 
exercise that he gets, he gets by nature or by chance. No 
regular opportunity is provided for it — no authoritative en- 
couragement is given to it, no stimulus, no prize ; all the 
ambition, all the zeal, all the ardor of his young, ignorant, 
and unreflecting nature is concentrated on the vigil and 
the midnight lamp. Severe labor, long terms, short vaca- 
tions, crowded rooms, late hours, bad air — what is the 
natural result ? 

What can be the result ? Well has it been said that 
the mind perishes as the body dwindles. Not for the pale 
crowd of sickly dyspeptics whom our colleges annually turn 
out, are the great prizes of life. There have indeed been 
Pascals and Byrons and Channings who, despite frail and 
miserable health, have achieved immortal things, but these 
are only exceptions which prove a great general rule. 

It is the man of robust and enduring constitution, of 
elastic nerve, of comprehensive digestion, who does the 
great work of life. It is Scott with his manly form. It 
is Brougham with his superhuman powers of physical 
endurance. It is Franklin at the age of seventy camping 
out on his way to arouse the Canadas, as our hardiest 
boys of twenty now camp out in the Adirondacks or 
on the Miramichi. It is Napoleon sleeping four hours, 
and on horseback twenty. It is Washington with his 



20 ADDKESS. 

splendid frame and physical strength. These are the men 
who make the names which the world will not let die. 
Miserable is the philosophy and the practice which fails to 
recognize the importance of the animal part of onr com- 
plicated structure. 

What is there in our system to raise or develop such 
men ? How is it possible for them to be produced by it ? 
I mean our system of Education. Among the classes 
which do not so much boast of their intellectual training, 
the physical man is indeed infinitely better cared for. If 
you seek among our people for bodily strength, look at the 
great turn-outs of our firemen. Look at our crack volun- 
teer regiments exchanging national courtesies with our 
sister States. — Among them you shall indeed find that 
sturdy vigor, that bodily strength and agility, without 
which all mental culture is but a preparation for disap- 
pointment and mortification. 

Nor let the educated classes flatter themselves, that if 
they permit the sceptre to fall from their slight and feeble 
hands, dominion will depart from among us. The Kepub- 
lic will not fail. Young and fresh blood will be supplied 
from the unenervated laembers of the commonwealth, and 
the prizes of life will be carried off by the young athletes 
fresh from the hill-sides, who, glowing with vigor of mind 
and body, will have no long or doubtful contest with their 
pale and feeble rivals of the city. 

If those whom we call the educated classes desire to 
obtain the great benefits of education — if the wealthier 
classes wish to secure or retain the best benefits which 
wealth can give — if either desire to preserve or perpetuate 
their influence — let them cultivate the physical education 
of their children ; let hardy sports, let vigorous games 
occupy their leisure hours ; so shall they turn their backs 
on the debasing and effeminate pursuits in which they 
now too often waste their youth, in which they too often 
perish before our eyes. 



ADDEESS. 21 

Such are some of the modifications which would ap- 
pear desirable in our present system of Education, if we 
are to produce a race fit to control this mighty continent. 
I do not think there can be any serious dissent from them. 
If our young men bounded into the arena, glowing with 
health and physical vigor, versed in the principal lan- 
guages of men, familiar with the secrets of science— at 
least taught to observe, it cannot I think be seriously de- 
nied that they would be more fit to contend for the great 
prizes of life, than if they crawl on to the scene, the vic- 
tims of languor and ill health, totally ignorant of science, 
ignorant of all spoken languages except their vernacular, 
and versed in Mathematics, Latin, and Glreek alone. 

" Olorus,'' said the ancient, " thy son's soul yearns 
after knowledge." So is it with the child of every age. 
They all crave instruction. . The passion is the earliest in 
life. When the infant lifts his chubby hand to the light, 
and turns it round before his inquiring eye, his little mind 
is straining after knowledge ; and from this moment, 
through all the pleasures and pursuits, contests and con- 
quests of life, if the desii-e be properly developed and 
guided, it will be the master-passion of the mind. Fierce 
are the throbs of passion. The love of pleasure, the love 
of power, absorb us by turns ; but there is no delight in 
its permanency, in its suceptibility of perpetual gratifica- 
tion, equal in the educated mind to the steady acquisition 
of knowledge, and the constant increase of power which 
comes with that knowledge. 

Thus have I solicited your attention to some of the 
changes that might, I think, with advantage be wrought 
in the training of our youth. Let us now ask ourselves, 
How shall the power acquired be properly best directed ? 

" Man is not a man,''' said Aristotle, " unless he is a 
citizen.'' The doctrine or the feeling, thus expressed by 
the great philosopher, lay at the root of all the Grrecian 
existence — was the source of all the Grecian greatness. 



22 ADDRESS. 

The Greek never forgot^ never neglected his relations to 
his country ; he never ceased to identify himself with the 
great body of his countrymen, to sympathize with their 
passions, to rejoice in their triumphs, to grieve with their 
mourning. 

I ask you how far this can now he said of us, who 
have many more inducements to entertain similar feelings, 
and to pursue a similar course. The disregard by our edu- 
cated classes of our public life, of our public duties, our 
reckless, scornful indifference to all public matters, is every 
day becoming more striking; the falling off, in other words, 
of our public spirit is every day more and more exciting- 
general comment. It is fast becoming the most promi- 
nent feature of our condition. With the exception of those 
who make a trade of politics, of those who live on public 
life; with the exception of those who love to stimulate the 
popular j>assions, who love to rouse the great lion Demos 
in his lair; or who long for the poor and short-lived fame 
that waits on those who run after popularity, our more 
educated classes, as a general rule, sedulously withdraw 
themselves from all contact with the real working of the 
country. They shun the jury ; they avoid the military 
organization; they shrink with real or well-affected con- 
tempt from all political gatherings. 

The result of this state of things will be certain. The 
work must be done. If those whose training peculiarly 
fits them to take a part in the task, fear, dislike, or dis- 
dain the duty, it will fall to others to perform it. The 
march of the country will not be arrested. The standard 
of the nation will not fall to the ground; it will be caught 
up and carried onward by bolder, perhaps by ruder hands. 

If this shall be the result, the classes endowed with 
education have only themselves to thank or to blame for 
it. They have not been driven from the field by revolu- 
tion, or by despotism. They have abdicated their legiti- 
mate power ; they have deliberately renounced the infiu- 



ADDRESS. 23 

ence which education always has given, always will give ; 
and this abdication, this renunciation, can only be ascribed 
to the love of money or the love of ease. No doubt the 
public is not a lucrative service. No doubt public exist- 
ence in any shape is laborious and painful ; but are these 
sufficient excuses in a country like ours ? 

It is easy to throw the blame on the age, or the land 
in which we live, on the violence of parties, popular igno- 
rance, decline of morals and virtue ; but I believe all these 
excuses very false and very feeble. A country advancing 
with the giant steps of ours in the paths of prosperity and 
knowledge, where we are content to pass our lives, to make 
our fortunes, to hold property which we exjDCct shortly to 
transmit to our children, is as well worthy our best public 
efforts as it is our best private virtues. Let us not flatter 
ourselves that we are too good for our country. " I can- 
not," says the heroic Milton, " praise a fugitive and clois- 
tered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never 
sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the 
race when that immortal garland is to be run for, not 
without dust and heat." 

Nor let it be gloomily said, little good can come of a 
contrary course. Let it not b'e" pretended that real public 
spirit or public virtue, abilities, knowledge, will fail to be 
appreciated by a community like ours. We have, it is 
true, passed through a rude age. A man whose genius 
seems only to have been developed by his physical misfor- 
tunes, has well typified it by the axe, the saddle-hag, and 
the rifle. It is the age of physical force^ of rude daring, 
of bloody violence, as Indian exterminated, and Mexican 
subjugated, as forest cleared, canal dug, and mountain- 
pass explored, can abundantly tell. It is the age of the 
axe, the saddle-bag, and the rifle ! But these are clumsy 
tools. We are entering on another epoch, the age of pre- 
cise, accurate knowledge, of careful education. Not by 
loud hurras, not by frenzied excitement, will the problems 



24 ADDRESS. 

of tlie next age be carried out ; not by furious |)artisans, 
or by boisterous stump-speakers. It will be led^ fash- 
ioned, governed, controlled by education. I do not say 
that the task will be performed by what are termed edu- 
cated men : it may be by what we call self-educated men ! 
It will be by self-educated men, if their rivals are ignorant 
of their advantages, or blind to their duty. 

What indeed are self-educated men but the very types 
of our beloved America ? What is this country, if not 
self-educated ? What training had this great continent 
for the work of self-government ? What is self-govern- 
ment but self-education ? What indeed are self-educated 
men but men whose technical teaching begins a little later 
in life, and who, by dint of observation, of application, led 
on by ambition, fired by genius, make up for the early 
days spent at the plough or the anvil, or with the plane, 
and who again bring from the field, the shop, or the forge, 
that vigorous, physical development, which makes them the 
masters of all situations. If education feebly, timorously 
fails to vindicate her claims, these are the bold men who 
will not hesitate to enter the arena, and carry ofP the 
prize. 

Seventy odd years ago, a Northumbrian cow-boy was 
earning two-pence a day in the fields near Newcastle. A 
few years later, a grit bare-legged laddie, quick-witted, 
full of fun and tricks, he was driving the gin-horse and 
birdnesting in the same neighborhood. At the age of 
eighteen he learned to read. Now his statues stand on 
the bridge over the river that flows through his native 
town, in Liverpool, in London ; and the name of George 
Stephenson is known wherever the rushing locomotive has 
borne the glad tidings of civilization. 

But, on the other hand, let not education fear that, if 
true to herself, her children shall not receive their share 
of the influence — the prizes of life. Education complete 
and yet not presumptuous, cosmopolitan and yet Ameri- 



ADDRESS. 25 

can ; education fashioned^ not according to the obsolete 
demands of the middle ages, but adapted to the wants of 
thiSj bold and free, yet accurate and careful, methodical, 
yet unslavish — this Education, whenever it asserts its posi- 
tion in the affairs of the country, will speedily find its 
claims recognized ; will find its place prepared, and the 
laurel crown awaiting it. 

It is very obvious and very certain that if the educated 
man desires influence or control over the affairs of his time, 
he must be in harmony with the leading idea of his age, 
and his country. Every country that has achieved 
national greatness, has done it on some general plan ; has 
had, whether consciously or unconsciously, some great 
central national idea, which has fired, developed, fashioned, 
and led their great men. 

In Kome, Imperial Kome, the grandest fabric of Gov- 
ernment that the world has ever seen, the idea was 
military supremacy based on absolute discipline. For 
this they abjured their early freedom — for this they sub- 
mitted to despotic power. 

In modern France it is national splendor based on 
individual equality. They will have a strong and splendid 
central Government, though it costs a half a million armed 
men to sustain it — though freedom perishes. They will 
not bow to a hereditary Bourbon, though hedged in with 
all manner of constitutional restrictions, but they prostrate 
themselves at the foot of a Bonaparte, springing from the 
people, and crowned with the halo of Kevolution. They 
have no elections, no press, no juries, no form or semblance 
of freedom ; but individual equality is almost as complete, 
in some respects more complete, than it is anywhere in the 
world. Equality is the ruling principle of the army, of 
the church, of society. 

In England, for at least two centuries, the leading 
national idea has been freedom. Freedom, at all events, 
the English will have. Individual action unchecked by 



26 ADDRESS. 

governmental restraint or control — ^free press — popular 
elections — juries-— militia ; and for this they are content 
to leave the land, the government^ and the church in the 
hands of a small oligarchy ; for this they cling to the 
framework of a feudal system. 

Different from all these is the leading idea of America ; 
comhining the idea of France v^ith the idea of England, 
but more intense than either. Absolute freedom and 
absolute equality — glittering generalities if you will, these 
are the ideas to which this - country clings with its most 
tenacious grasp. We are content with a paltry, a shabby 
government, provided we are not interfered with. We 
hate the idea of a strong government, and prefer occasional 
mobs, and an imbecile administration of justice. We will 
not listen to the smallest notion of privilege; rather than 
that, we like to keep everybody electing everybody to office 
every six months. Distinction invites ostracism. It has 
so proved repeatedly in our political history. Freedom 
and equality reign triumphant in the popular breast. For 
these we are content to endure lynch law, the vulgarity 
and violence of our public bodies, feeble and shifting 
administration — we accept them, and accept them with 
our eyes open, accept them cheerfully, accept them 
as yet gladly; nor will our present system be materially 
modified, unless our people shall be satisfied that it 
does not really secure the ends for which it was 
devised : as yet, we entertain no doubt. We see the 
blessings of freedom and equality, we believe in them 
politically, believe in them religiously; we are satisfied 
that for us they are infinitely more abundant in bless- 
ings than in mischiefs. Kor do we over-prize them. 
So far as public life is concerned, what is there of human 
happiness not contained in those two magic words, right- 
ly understood ? What is there of all the evils flowing 
from human government that these great medicamentSj 
correctly applied, will not cure ? Freedom and equality 1 



ADDEESS. 27 

vast is the ground they cover. Freedom from party vio- 
lence and madness, freedom from public corruption, free- 
dom from the rule of unscrupulous demagogues, and self- 
ish oligarchies ; equal administration of justice, equal pro- 
tection of private rights, equal enjoyment of the workings 
of government, equal toleration of all difference of religious 
opinion. These are but a few of the blessings that true 
freedom and equality bring in their train. 

If then education seeks the prizes of the nation, it 
must be true to the national idea. It must be loyal to 
the great tenets of freedom and equality. It is only on 
condition of our being true to the popular affections, that 
we can touch the popular heart. 

Now it is superfluous to inculcate these ideas. That 
shrewdest and most sagacious of all observers who has 
ever visited us, De Tocqueville, said twenty-five years 
ago : ^'But beneath this artificial enthusiasm, and these 
obsequious attentions to the preponderating power, it is 
easy to perceive that the wealthy members of the com- 
munity entertain a hearty distaste to the democratic in- 
stitutions of their country. The populace is at once the 
object of their scorn and of their fears/' How is it now ? 
There is often an hiatus valde defiendus between wealth and 
education. They are by no means correlative terms ; but 
kindred causes tend to operate in both cases. Both wealth 
and education, ill employed or ill understood, tend to se- 
clude or segregate the possessor from the great mass of his 
countrymen. False, and narrow, and ignorant, whether it 
be theory or practice ! Few are the human beings so 
wonderfully constituted that they cannot receive from fre- 
quent contact with the mass of their fellows, far more than 
they can possibly give. Few are the minds which are not 
enlarged and invigorated by the sturdy teachings of free- 
dom and equality. Not in the purple, not in the luxuri- 
ous recesses of rich houses, not in the sequestered retreats 
of learning, are nurtured the men who control the destiny 



28 ADDRESS. 

of mankind. From the hill-top, from the plough, from 
the shop, from the forge, they come — familiar with their 
race, undaunted by opposition, hardy in mind and body, 
children of freedom ! nurslings of equality ! These are the 
Washingtons, the Franklins, the Millers, the Stephen- 
sons, who in the world of politics, of science, of mechanics, 
lead and direct the race. 

Again, our education must be true to the nationality 
of our country. In many lands this would be a most 
superfluous injunction. In England or France it is as ab- 
surd to urge a man to be national as it would be to coun- 
sel him to speak his mother tongue. Here it is far other- 
wise. With infinite pain, and by slow degrees, has this 
nation been built up ; it is with infinite labor that the 
heterogeneous colonies, founded l)y different races of men, 
guided by the most opposite principles, pursuing the most 
different objects, have been gradually moulded into one 
common country. Look at the mode by which English, 
Dutch, Irish, French, German emigrants, Puritan and 
Catholic, Quaker and Cavalier, have been formed into one 
people, by which the constitutions of the philosophic 
Locke, and of the astute Penn, the aristocratic colonial 
organization of New York, and the democratic systems 
of the Massachusetts Bay and Connecticut have been 
moulded into one great Government. Look ! and wonder 
equally at the process and the result. 

Conceived by the Stamp Act Congress of 1V68, quick- 
ened into life by the immortal Declaration of 1776, the 
national spirit first really took birth in the great conven- 
tion of 1787; since then it has been the task of all the 
truly great men of the Kepublic to develop and to in- 
crease it. 

Nor has it been other than a difficult and a painful 
process. The centripetal and centrifugal forces are forever 
at war — ^local jealousies and individual ambitions are for- 
ever rife. Partisanship is ever awake, and corruption 



ADDRESS. 29 

never slumbers. But I believe that, despite local agita- 
tions and disturbanceSj the national feeling never was so 
strong, nor the aifections of the people ever so truly loyal 
to the national standard as at this hour. Disappointed 
ambition is often soured, but the masses of our people look 
with indifference on the game for power. Upheld by strong 
and loyal hands, I believe the stars and stripes will, for 
long years yet to come, command the best affections, and 
arouse the loftiest passions of the nation. 

And so should it be ; it is idle to speculate on the 
possibilities of a dim future. We are men of the present ; 
suffi.ce it for us, that, as far as we can see, our happiness, 
our prosperity, our dignity, our all, public and private, de- 
pends on our national existence ; and that our highest in- 
terest, as well as duty, is to foster and consolidate the 
national spirit — the true national spirit — ^based on that 
fraternity which has been the dream of great minds through 
all ages ; based on moderation, wisdom, regard for the in- 
terests of all, deference ever for the prejudices and passions 
of all ; a true appreciation of the faults and foibles of our 
common humanity, and a wise conviction that, except by 
toleration and mutual concessioD, nothing great can be 
accomplished by any association of human effort. 

Especially it is the duty of the educated men of the 
country to cultivate this temper. They have at their 
command the heroic language, and the lofty verse in which 
great popular ideas are embalmed and handed down from 
age to age. Theirs is the mastery of tradition and 
history ; theirs are the weapons of argument and rhetoric ; 
they control the press ; they speak at the bar ; they thunder 
from the popular tribune ; they have the ear of the country. 

And on the other hand, what does not education owe to 
the nation ? From the nation, with its wealth and inter- 
change of ideas, spring the great institutions of learning 
and science ; with the nation grow the arts of peace. 
When the nation shall perish, carrying with it, as it 



30 ADDKESS. 

mustj our freedom and our equality, education will be 
the first to be overwhelmed in the catastrophe. "And 
when every stone is laid artfully together/' says the 
great Kepublican whom I love to quote, " it cannot be 
united into a continuity, it can only be contiguous in this 
world : neither can every piece of the building be of one 
form ; nay, rather the perfection consists in this, that out 
of many moderate varieties and brotherly dissimilitudes 
that are not vastly disproportionate, arises the goodly and 
the graceful symmetry that commends the whole pile and 
structure/' 

The most marked feature of the peculiar condition of 
this country, has been the extraordinary development of 
individual energy, and individual reliance. The American 
never fears to encounter a peril, to undertake a task. No 
real, genuine American, in his normal state, doubts his 
equal competency to head an army, to legislate for his 
country, to address an audience, or manage a locomotive. 
The consequence is, an amount of self-confidence and 
energy, to which no nation can show any approach. That 
confidence often degenerates into presumption ; that fools 
sometimes rush in where angels fear to tread, that above all 
the great principle of discipline has suffered from this, no 
one can deny. The centrifugal force is forever in the 
ascendency. It takes a great man or a great emergency 
to control the individualism of our people. 

But the age of individual energy — of Boone, of St. Clair, 
of Austin — of the hardy settlers of the West, is fast passing 
away. Little will hereafter be accomplished but by dis- 
cipline, by combination, by wise subjection to control, by 
organization. To inculcate this is the duty of education. 
If there is any thing which education practically 
knows, any thing which it should constantly teach more 
than any thing else, it is the extent to which men are 
dependent upon each other, the slow and regular steps by 
which knowledge advances, the loss of time and labor that 



ADDRESS. 31 

has been sustained by those self-taught men, who have 
not been able to learn what had been done before them ; 
the absolute necessity of co-operation to produce great 
results ; and with co-operation come inevitably order, sub- 
mission, subjection and discipline. Discipline is the secret 
of the grand triumphs of Kome ; discipline is the key to 
the glories of England. If we are to maintain the great- 
ness which God has thrust upon us, it must be by the 
cultivation of the virtue of discipline. 

With this subject is connected that of the moderation 
of opinion. Discipline of conduct depends on discipline of 
the mind. Certainly the most marked feature of the pre- 
sent state of our country is the tendency to extravagance, 
and violence of opinion. In politics, or out of politics ; 
banks ; tariff ; slavery ; or British outrages ; temperance, 
or the rights of woman ; no matter what the question 
be, it is discussed with a rage, a fury that exceeds any 
thing outside of bedlam. Men rave like Eastern Fakirs — 
women rant like Delphic Pythonesses ; every question is 
made one of passion, fustian, bombast, and folly. The 
law of action and reaction governs our whole existence, 
intellectual as well as moral : these fever fits are always 
followed by their cold chills, and to-morrow you shall find 
us utterly uninterested in the subject that to-day you might 
suppose was bound to our heart-strings. 

That this condition of the national mind is unwhole- 
some and unfavorable to morals, to good government, to 
religion, to the stability of all our dearest interests, it is 
difficult to deny ; but if this state of things is to be 
checked or counteracted, it must be done by the educated 
classes. It is education alone, gentle and yet strong, that 
can lay its hand on the mane of the young lion of Amer- 
ca ; that can say to the popular .wave. Peace ! be still ! 
Certainly as yet our educated men, as a class, have not 
been in this respect up to their vocation. It is very man- 
ifest, that the most educated portions of the country are 



32 ADDKESS. 

those most susceptible to these wild frenzies of opinion. 
It is very certain^ that among our educated men are those 
who are most addicted to stimulate the popular passions, 
to swell the outcry and urge on the extravaganza of the 
hour. Dearer to them is the huzza of the ignorant mob 
than the commendation of reason, or the approbation of 
wisdom. 

Than this there can be no more unfavorable sight, 
none that bodes worse for our country. There can be no 
spectacle more painful than to see an educated man, false 
to his teachings and his privileges, abdicate the true power 
of his position ; mistaking clamor for fame, claptrap for 
eloQTience, stage-trick for truth, fomenting the passions 
which he ought to control, following on at the heels of the 
crowd whom he ought to lead ; sure, sooner or later, to 
disappear and be lost in the ignoble herd. That man, be 
he politician, lecturer, minister or essayist, is, after all, 
nothing more than a demagogue. Demagogues — syco- 
phants of the people, affliction and curse of free govern- 
ments — who, from the days of Athens to our own, have 
been the parasites of Kepublican greatness — the precur- 
sors of its decline and fall ! 

Look at England : whatever opinions men may enter- 
tain of her system of government, or of society, no one 
can doubt her power. And it is equally evident that she 
has preserved that power by her wonderful moderation of 
opinion and of conduct. Her governing classes have had 
the amazing wisdom to know how and when to yield their 
dearest privileges. 

But we need not go abroad for examples of moderation 
of language or of conduct, in men placed in prominent 
positions. If there be any two men, whose public virtue 
and wisdom are held up more than those of others to the 
American people, they are Washington and Franklin. 
Certainly no other two men have had an equal influence 
on the destinies of this country, And what is there in 



ADDRESS. 33 

the character of each of them more remarkable than their 
moderation of opinion and of conduct ? Theirs was not the 
moderation of timidity ; each risked his fortune, his repu- 
tation, his life, in a rebellious struggle against his lawful 
sovereign ; and yet contemplate the career of each — con- 
template Franklin in all the diplomatig difficulties and 
mazes of his European life — consider Washington in the 
superhuman labors of the Revolutionary War, and of the 
formation of the Constitution ; and you will not find in 
either the expression of a violent, scarcely an extreme 
opinion. 

To these great shades, to whom we pay such frequent 
lip-service, let us render a more honest, a truer homage. 
Let us imitate their moderation, their wisdom, their con- 
ciliatory spirit ; let us understand, and by our practice 
prove, that it is not necessary to be boisterous, fanatical, 
extreme, in order to be American — that one may be mod- 
erate, wise, just, and yet be true to the great principle 
of progress. 

Cultivation of a true public spirit ! Freedom and 
Equality! Nationality! Discipline ! wise Moderation of 
Opinion ! these then are the true objects of our public in- 
tellectual training — these the aims to which our minds 
should aspire — these the mottoes that should be inscribed 
on the banner of our education. 

And who will deny that, if these ideas are properly im- 
pressed upon the young and ardent intellect of this fresh 
and eager people — if these teachings are made part of the 
intellectual being of this active and energetic country, 
who will doubt or deny that we shall come up to the lofty 
fortunes which patriotism predicts for us ? If indeed our 
people, fired by honest public spirit, shall retain their love 
for regulated freedom and true equality ; if, submitting to 
the restraints of discipline, and trampling under foot ex- 
cesses of opinion, they cling fast to the great central idea 
of Nationality ; who will doubt or deny or regret our mani- 
3 



34 ADDRESS. 

fest destiny ? who will fail to salute our progress with af- 
fectionate admiration ? who will not hail with delight the 
spread of our influence westward, southward, in every di- 
rection in which the active intelligence of America shall 
guide her indomitable energies ? 



POEM 

BY 

JOHN MAC MULLEN, A. M., 

BEFOBE 
OF 

COLUMBIA COLLEOE, 

October 27, 1858. 



1^ 



NATHAN HALE: 

A POEM, 

DELIYERED BEFORE THE 

OCTOBER 21, 1858. 

BY JOHN MAC MULLEN, A.M. 



Come all Alumni gather round ; 

I tell of courage high. ; 
Of Nathan Hale, a college boy, 

One not afraid to die. 
His father a stout yeoman was ; 

In Coventry his birth ; 
And never shone the golden sun 

On one of loftier worth. 

'Twas leafy June when he was born ; 

Dame Earth was in her best, 
When his mother smiled, and the grave Deacon 

His little boy caressed. 
They little thought that he, so small 

And tender, lying there. 
Was of hero-mould ; had a head to plan, 

And a heart could boldly dare. 



He sported 'neatli the maple-leaf, 

And tlie oak-tree's sturdy bough, 
Till his limbs grew long, and his bones grew strong j 

And few could him follow. 
To ride, to shoot, to speak the truth, 

To wrestle, jump, and climb. 
Such was the life his frame to knit. 

His courage to sublime. 

They thought to make him a man of God, 

And the village pastor, he 
Taught him the tongues of Greece and Eome 

With their deeds of chivalry. 
How Brutus the consul stern adjudged 

His traitor sons to death : 
How Curtius leaped in the yawning gulf 

That closed ere they drew their breath : 

How Decius stood on the blood-stained spear, 

And doomed himself to die ; 
And how the Fabii fought and fell. 

That house so great and high. 
He read of Thermopylae — sainted name — 

And of proud Plataea's day. 
And of him so prompt his Thebes to serve 

In the highest or humblest way. 



! heroes of old, so true and bold, 

Undying and sacred band ! 
How many yeVe taught who have valiantly fought 

For Freedom and Fatherland ! 
Your spirit has breathed from the pages read 

In every College hall, 
Till their upturned thrones have crushed the bones 

Of oppressors proud and.tall. 

And never a nobler youth hath read, 

In these chronicles of old, 
Of the steadfast men who honor loved 

Far more than life or gold. 
His fine eye flashed, and his red cheek glowed, 

And his head was lifted high, 
As he dreamed that he, in a noble cause. 

Full gallantly might die. 

He little thought that a few short years 

Should see him calmly stand. 
With an eye undimmed and a cheek unblenched 

In the midst of a hostile band : 
And that never bold Eoman or gallant Greek, 

In their proudest days, could say 
More heroic words than his youthful lips 

Gave forth on their dying day. 



When he entered the halls of Mother Yale, 

And trod beneath her elm, 
He seemed some heaven-sent Mercury, 

With winged feet and helm ; 
For he was tall, well knit, and strong ; 

No goodher youth was seen : 
And in after years men proudly showed 

His leap on the College Green. 

Many a maiden turned again 

His graceful form to scan, 
Where nature featly had conjoined 

All that delights in man. 
Th@ sparkling eye, the noble brow, 

The bearing frank and free, 
The pleasant wit, the genial smile. 

The inborn courtesy. 

The priests of old from out their herds 

The goodliest always chose ; 
Upon fair Freedom's altar he 

Was offered even as those ; 
And of all the glorious martyrs bold 

That for mankind have died, 
None more unflinchingly stood up 

In the bloom of manly pride. 



To earn Ms bread like an honest man, 

When his college days were o'er, 
He took his seat at the teacher's desk 

And taught what he learned before. 
The path of knowledge still he smoothed, 

And strewed it o'er with flowers ; 
And all have said that 'neath his rule 

Swift fled the happy hours. 

'Twas thus two years in peace had passed, 

Till war was on the gale. 
The yeomen saw the gathering cloud, 

But were not men to quail. 
It burst at last on Lexington : 

It burst in bloody rain : 
And through the land the cry rang out, 

" Our brethren have been slain ! " 



This war-cry to New London came, 

Where Hale sat in his school. 
Then straightway rose the hero up ; 

Left copy-book and rule. 
" I've passed among you pleasant days ; 

But those pleasant days are o'er. 
My country calls ; I leave my books. 

And gird me up for war.'* 



8 



Lieutenant by Connecticut, 

By Congress Captain made, 
He girt fast to his slender waist 

His bloodless battle-blade. 
New London Ms first station was ; 

But soon the eastern camp, 
Before beleaguered Boston, heard 

His and his comrades' tramp. 

No carpet-knights were these young men ; 

Their station was in front. 
Of sorties from the penned-up foe 

They often bore the brunt. 
To Putnam's tent he often went ; 

Spencer and Sullivan, 
Lord Stirling, Grreene, all loved him well 

As officer and man. 



When, Fabius-like, our Washington, 

By firm and wise delay, 
Had forced our hireling enemies 

From Boston and her bay. 
To our city here he quickly marched, 

To face them once again : 
For they had come with bristling fleet 

Across the briny main. 



The Asia, sixty-four gun ship, 

In our East Kiver lay. 
A sloop was anchored 'neath her guns, 

To us a wished-for prey : 
For she was full of army stores, 

While our men were in want ; 
But she was girt with dangers round, 

That stout hearts well might daunt. 

Cool heads and ready hands must be 

With those would cut her out ; 
Yet Hale soon found in those around 

Stout arms and hearts as stout. 
They choose a light and handy boat, 

And muffle well each oar, 
Then wait the friendly veil of night 

To reach the further shore. 



" 'Tis dark enough now, men, and we 

Are far enough above ; 
Silent and steady make your strokes 

Our well-manned barge to shove. 
The moon goes down at midnight ; we 

Must hug the other side 
Until we reach the opposing point, 

And there in patience bide.'' 



10 



All patiently they sit and watch 

The moon go down the sky ; 
And can, from far, the Asia's masts, 

And frowning hull descry. 
A single gun from that dark hull 

Could sweep them all to death ; 
But calm they eye her as she lies, 

And wait their leader's breath. 

The moon has touched the horizon's edge ; 

And now her silver light 
Gently withdraws and leaves them all 

Involved in deepest night. 
" This rising wind will serve our turn ; 

The tide is strongest now ; 
Quiet and quick the watchword is ; 

We'll board her on the bow." 



The Asia's watch, from her high deck, 

Can nothing hear or see, 
Save rushing wind or swashing wave 

To windward or to lee ; 
But the light bark speeds bravely on. 

Until they dimly spy 
The topmost rigging of the sloop 

Against the darkening sky. 



11 



They reacli her bow^ make fast, and then, 

Like leaping panthers, spring ; 
Silent and swift they make their way ; 

With hands and feet they cling. 
The drowsy watch they gag and bind ; 

Then pass them all below ; 
Clap on the hatch ; the cable cut ; 

And with the tide they go. 

Then slowly, quietly, they hoist 

Some sail for steerage way. 
Hale takes the helm ; and steady steers, 

Hoping the dawn of day. 
It comes at last, that longed-for light, 

From God's own blessed hand. 
It gilds the sky ; it gilds the stream ; 

And gilds the wished-for strand. 

" Hurrah, we're safe ; the prize is won ; 

Now up with every sail ; 
And let her cleave the foaming waves. 

Before the favoring gale. 
We've blankets for our needy men. 

And shoes to fence their feet. 
And joyously, upon the wharves. 

Our coming soon they'll greet." 



12 



The wharves are crowded ; thronging round 

They eye the distant sail ; 
And many a hope, and many a fear, 

Weighs down the alternate scale ; 
But, as she nearer comes, their hopes 

Their many fears overwhelm. 
They see, they know those on her deck. 

And Hale is at the helm. 

— " Hurrah for Hale." — Each manly throat 

Eings out its heartfelt joy. 
" Ha, ha ! John Bull but little thought 

We'd thus his stores employ."' 
She nears the wharf ; down drop the sails ; 

The sloop is quickly moored ; 
Hale makes report ; his men march off ; 

There floats the prize secured. 

But soon, alas, our Hale grew sick, 

And, as he lay along. 
The British landed at Gravesend, 

Ten thousand muskets strong. 
Out there, upon Long Island's plains, 

The hireling Hessians stood, 
With the ranks of England's red-coat slaves 

That shed our brethren's blood. 



13 



They turned our flank upon tlie left, 

And gallant Sullivan, 
'Twixt Clinton and De Heister's fire. 

Lost many a daring man. 
Discomfited and sad of heart, 

Within their lines they lay ; 
Till Washington across the stream 

Safe drew them all away. 

God sent to him a favoring wind. 

And kindly shrouding fog, 
That bafiled Clinton's best bloodhounds 

His steps they could not dog. 
But our great leader's mighty heart 

With anguish deep was rent, 
To think how many a freeman's head 

Low down in death had bent. 



Stirling and Sullivan were ta'en ; 

Sore sick the gallant Greene ; 
And many a once familiar face 

Was nowhere to be seen. 
There lay the foe across the stream. 

But he'd no way to learn 
What force they had, or how disposed. 

That he might their blows return. 



14 



He called a council, and 'twas fixed 

That some superior man 
Must spy them out, and make report, 

And all their works must plan. 
To Colonel Knowlton 'twas assigned 

To find the man they sought ; 
He called his officers around, 

And earnest with them wrought. 

But each one, silent, hung his head, 

Or turned him cold away. 
To be a spy, though sore the need, 

That part they could not play. 
Hale had come late to council, and 

Was pale from his sick bed. 
But when he saw them all draw back 

He lifted up his head. 

" I'll undertake it," calm and clear, 

From his young lips outbroke : 
But all the council crowded round. 

And each against it spoke. 
For he was loved by all the corps. 

Both officers and men. 
They sorrowed o'er him sick, and joyed 

To see his face again. 



15 



" Nay Hale, it cannot, must not be. 

An officer a spy ! 
And if discovered, from a tree 

Hung like a tMef to die ! 
Let some one from the ranks go out, 

Or some camp follower keen. 
Your epaulettes, for all our sakes^ 

You should not thus demean." 

— " Hold, comrades, hold. — Your words are vain. 

I thank you for your love ; 
But there are higher, holier thoughts, 

Such earthly thoughts above. 
We are not here on gay parade, 

Our epaulettes to show. 
We fight for freedom, undismayed, 

Against a powerful foe. 

" Our General asks it. Would he ask 

Dishonoring deed or wrong ? 
No ! and his voice my country's is. 

For her my heart is strong 
To dare a felon's death, or aught 

May help her at her need. 
If we draw back how can we pray 

Our God her cause to speed ? 



16 



" Whatever slie needs as glorious is, 

For me, as loftiest plume 
That ever decked tlie warrior's meed, 

Where guns and swords make room. 
So good-bye, comrades "; if I fall. 

Some one will take my place ; 
And, soon or late, in peace or war. 

Each man must end his race." 

So spake this youthful heart and bold, 

This patriot pure and high ; 
Nor did his manly deeds his words. 

In any point, belie. 
To head-quarters he was ordered, they 

Were then at Murray Hill, 
That he might clear instructions get, 

And learn his General's will. 



Long time talked they together there, 

Two noblest among men ; 
But never, on this earth of ours. 

From that time met again. 
One died in honored age, and one 

In his youthful bloom was slain. 
With a heart as pure, and a soul as high. 

As e'er felt joy or pain. 



17 



Hale took the guise of schoolmaster, 

Wandering in search of work, 
'Neath plain brown clothes and broad-brimmed hat 

His purposes must lurk. 
He crossed the Sound at Norwalk, 

When all was still and dark, 
And safely trod on hostile ground 

Ere rising of the lark. 

Through English, Hessians, Waldeckers, 

He passed in safety on. 
Striving their numbers all to note, 

And all their works to con. 
From Brooklyn he crossed over here, 

And passed along our streets ; 
Though every soldier was his foe, 

Yet all he calmly meets. 

A single instant could bring him 

To gibbet and to rope ; 
But, in College Latin, still he notes 

All that's within his scope. 
At length, the information gained. 

Placed safe within his shoe, 
He crossed again to Brooklyn, 

And from their lines withdrew. 



18 



'Twas early morn when on tTie shore, 

At Huntington, he stood. 
He waited but the appointed boat 

To bear him o'er the flood. 
'Twas close by Jesse Fleet's. The leaves 

Were fluttering on the trees ; 
The rippling waves, in changing curves, 

Obeyed the wandering breeze. 

His task was done ; the risk was run ; 

His knowledge all secure. 
He'd but to cross the Sound again, 

And all would then be sure. 
A boat comes round the point. — 'Tis she,- 

The bark to bear him o'er. 
He stands to wait, in careless ease, 

Her progress to the shore. 



— Too late ! too late ! he sees his fault. — 

The British uniform 
Is in the boat ; and near must float 

Some ship where foes thick swarm. 
He turns too late ! the sheltering trees 

He never more may gain. 
" Stand or you die ! " — He yields perforce, - 

And in the boat is ta'en. 



19 



How "bitter ! oli how "bitter to 

The young and sanguine heart ! 
"When the cup is dashed to earth that he 

Eaised up with lips apart. 
But Hale his sadly sinking heart 

Has force enough to hide. 
A patient prisoner calm he meets 

Whatever may betide. 

They reach the ship, the Halifax, 

And, when on deck they stand, 
The lounging idlers crowd around 

To see who's come from land. 
Quick from the crowd a renegade 

Cries out " 'Tis l^athan Hale ! 
— A rebel dog — I know him well/' 

Hale turned a moment pale. 

The shadow of his coming fate 

Fell on him as he stood ; 
And, for a single instant, it 

Congealed his youthful blood. 
But no fell fate a brave man daunts. 

And soon his manly pride 
Fired his full eye, and flushed his cheek, 

And spread his nostrils wide. 



/_ 



20 



As if he scorned the traitor's blood, 

That fought against his land, 
And raised, midst hosts of hireling swords, 

His parricidal brand. 
This traitor his own cousin was ; 

A wretch, who kindred ties 
And patriot hopes, our holiest thoughts, 

Could both alike despise. 

The Captain lent unwilling ear 

To charges such as these. 
Against a youth of form and face 

Each manly heart to please. 
But when, within Hale's shoe, were found 

The plans and notes he'd ta'en. 
He sent him to the city here with 

Hl-dissembled pain. 

At two o'clock, on that same morn. 

The demon fire had waked 
The sleepers from their pleasant dreams. 

And they with terror quaked. 
For the roaring flames came leaping on 

From Whitehall up each street, 
House after house devouring, till 

Our College Green they meet. 



21 



There stayed their waves. The changing wind 

Their billows backward swept^ 
But five hundred homes were desolate, 

And many a woman wept. 
Such the sad scene that met Hale's eyes, 

As from the boat he came, — 
The clanging bells, the rolling smoke. 

And the far flashing flame. 

But close they guarded him, and led. 

To where, on Murray Hill, 
Sir William Howe's head-quarters were. 

In Beekman's mansion still. 
Its owner a true patriot was. 

And to ^sopus fled. 
They seized his house, and rang his halls 

To the hated Briton's tread. 



In the garden stood a greenhouse, and 

They brought the captive there. 
The place was shorn of all its flowers. 

The tiled floor was bare. 
Bound, but undaunted, waiting doom, 

The youthful Captain stood. 
Whate'er he felt, his manly front 

Betrayed no changing mood. 



22 



Sir William Howe sat there to judge, 

With officers beside, 
Their captive clad in plain homespun, 

And they in all their pride : 
Yet that young man so plain arrayed, 

In history's page shall live, 
When their gewgaws and titles all 

No lingering gleam shall give. 

Short was his trial, sharp his doom — 

At daybreak he must die. 
And now's led forth to hold secure 

Till dawning tints the sky. 
Close guarded to his prison cell. 

The doors upon him close. 
And he is left to think all night. 

Or seek disturbed repose. 

Our College then a prison was. 

And it may be that Hale 
Was placed within its strong stone walls. 

With many a prisoner pale. 
Yes ! in those halls where we've oft read 

Of the heroes true of old. 
This youthful hero slept, perhaps, 

Before his death-knell tolled. 



23 



Old College ! thou art gone, — and those 

Sweet memories of youth 
That clustered fondly round thee ; 

Young friendship's bright-eyed truth ; 
The genial hours we all have spent 

Beneath those grand old trees, 
That rose, like towers, from out the earth, 

Huge palaces of leaves ; 

That pleasant green that heard so oft 

Youth's light and ringing laugh. 
Ere we went on life's pilgrimage. 

With sober scrip and staff ; 
Those lecture-rooms, where smothered jokes 

With learning we inwove ; 
Those chambers underground, where wits 

In tilt and tourney strove ; 

The many spots more sacred made 

By memories of the dead. 
Those who untimely left our sides 

To seek their lowly beds ; — 
Are gone ! all gone .! and what is more, 

The very earth's removed, 
Where trod the springing footsteps oft 

Of those we knew and loved. 



24 



Oh ! had it not been better, still 

To leave, midst mammon's waste, 
That one green spot, those strong old walls, 

Where patriot prisoners paced ! 
I speak not of our private griefs. 

But, in this age of ours. 
We hurry on with heedless hand 

To pluck both fruit and flowers^ 

Not thinking of those men of old 

Who shivered and who bled. 
That we might all go warmly clothed. 

And with the best be fed. 
Had our old College, the Provost, 

The Sugar House been kept, 
Where crowded patriots moaned, grew sick. 

And then in silence slept : 

No place more holy could have been 

Than where they used to pine. 
And no more touching monument 

Could architect divine. 
Amidst our city's wealth and pride 

They should have sacred been. 
As shrines where patriot pilgrims still 

Some holy thoughts might glean. 



25 



Thus Hale must have thought, in his lonely cell, 

Of the martyrs bright of old, 
The long, long line that have shed their blood 

More precious far than gold. 
They that have striven to raise our race 

From all that's low and vile, 
And borne, unshrinking, chains and death, 

Kough rope or blazing pile. 

But tenderer thoughts came throbbing through 

His warm and youthful heart, 
Of home and friends, and her, from whom 

'Twas death indeed to part. 
How oft he'd watched her graceful form 

On household cares intent ! 
How oft beside the spinning wheel 

As, to and fro, she went ! 

And, when the wars were over, she 

Had promised him to wed ; 
Now, — he must die a felon's death, 

And sleep in lonely bed. 
He asked a Bible. — 'Twas refused. 

He sought a man of God, — 
But Cunningham his jailer was ; 

More brutal never trod. 



26 



With coarse, loud laugh, he answered him, 

With oath; and gihe, and jeer, 
Ev'n when he asked for paper, hut 

To write to those most dear. 
A young lieutenant of the guard 

Could not this sight endure, 
Butj ere he left, saw paper given 

To Hale in hand secure. 

Thus he sate down to write that night 

His farewell words to those, 
So near, so dear, now dearer still 

Since life was at its close. 
His sisters one, his parents one, 

His brothers, now afar. 
Fair Alice one, — her lovely eyes 

Those lines will sadly mar. 

His task is done, the light is gone — 

He sits there in the dark. 
And tears will course adown his cheeks. 

Since none are by to mark. 
But one and twenty summers had 

Strewn flowers along his path, 
Kespect, affection, friendship, love. 

Yes ! all this bright life hath. 



27 



'Twas liard to leave them. Hard to die. 

From every friend away, 
A felon's death, midst flouting foes. 

Who'd mock his senseless clay ; — 
But soon his mind took loftier tone, 

As he thought of duty done ; 
And felt that the love of earth's hest men 

With his life he'd nobly won. 

He knew his comrades would feel sad, 

His friends forget him not ; 
But he wondered if, in after years, 

The same would be his lot ; 
If we should win our freedom, and 

Men histories should indite, 
If they, in them, on any page, 

His youthful name would write : 

If the students of our colleges 

Would ever hear that one, 
A son of Yale, in Columbia slept, 

To die with the rising sun. 
Yes ! Hale ! across the gulf of years, 

I'm standing here to-night 
To tell them how you died for us, 

And left this pleasant light. 



28 



Here, in tlie miglitiest city that 

This broad, broad land can claim, 
I'm telling old Columbia's sons 

Of you and of your fame. 
Grod grant some hearts here in this throng 

With the sacred fire may burn 
That lit your steps on glory's path 

That gilds your funeral urn ! 

Let them not wait occasion grand, 

But fill the present need. 
As high your fame, a spy who died. 

As theirs that in battle bleed. 
Let them Columbia's honored name 

With added fame increase. 
And take their place midst that bright throng 

The patriots of peace. 

But see ! the first gray streaks of dawn 

Come stealing o'er the sky ; 
Hale leaves his restless couch that he 

May dress himself to die. 
They come, — ^he meets them with calm face. 

And walks with firmest tread ; 
Upright his graceful, manly form, 

Uplifted is his head. 



29 

'Twas on a Sunday morning thus 

They led him forth to die, 
Saddening the quiet of the streets 

With their death melody ; 
But midst their flashing ranks 

The pinioned prisoner paced 
Proudly, as he a conqueror were, 

And they his triumph graced. 

In Chambers Street they halted ; and 

The brutal Cunningham, 
With negro Dick, his hangman foul, 

Their cursed work began. 
There was a graveyard to the north, 

And from a branching tree 
The fatal noose hangs ready 

That's to set his spirit free. 



Now, from his vest, young Hale takes out 

The letters that he wrote. 
To Cunningham he hands them there. 

Who must their contents note. 
But see ! he tears them up, and flings 

Their fragments on the ground. 
" The cursed rebels ne'er shall know 

Such man's among them found."' 



30 



'Twas a bitter pang that tlirilled througli Hale, 

When he those fragments saw ; 
But higher still did he lift his head, 

And his curling lip up draw. 
With cool contempt he gazed on him, 

As turned the brute about, 
And jeering called for his dying speech — 

'Twas then those words broke out : 

" My sole regret is that IVe but 

One life our land to give." 
The furious brute laid hands on him, 

That he might not longer live. 

m i',i i'.i Hi ^ Hi 

i',i i^ Hi i'fi i^ i'^ 



'Tis done ! — His manly form now swings 
Between the earth and heaven. 

The tender ties that bound him here 
Thus rudely all are riven. 

We know not where they buried him. 

Belike beneath the tree ; 
But patriot memories cluster there, 

Where'er the spot may be. 



c _, 



31 



Yes ! youthful martyr ! all our isle 

To us more sacred's made, 
Since on her breast thy manly form 

In death's deep sleep was laid. 

And still when comes September, 

The month that saw thy death, 
And the forest leaves begin to change 

Beneath the frost-king's breath, 
In cottage and in College hall, 

Throughout our wide-spread land. 
Let each faithful heart recall thy part 

Amidst the patriot band. 

Yes !' all our youths that manliest are, 

And con the historic page. 
Shall feel in turn thy patriot fire 

To honor still their age. 
Young maids, at twilight musing, sigh, 

Soft-murmuring, and look grave. 
As memory whispers them of one 

So handsome and so brave. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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